Blue Velvet
by LobosNumber5
Summary: Honest Heart, a young stallion from the middle of nowhere, works at a flower shop on first and twenty-fourth in the bustling, sleepless Manehattan. Everything he knows gets turned on its head when he gets involved with the cream colored mare who comes in every week to buy a bouquet of roses.
1. The Shop On First and Twenty-Fourth

"Thanks for coming by again, Ms. Hazel!"

Honest Heart waved after the ornery mare leaving the flower shop with an enthusiastic smile, but no sooner than the door lay flush with the interior wall of the store did he slump against the counter before him and let out what he often described to his boss as _"the longest sigh anypony has ever sighed." _Today was going to be the same as the previous day, and the next day will be the same as today, and nothing will ever change.

The reality of his absurd, mundane lifestyle was enough to make Heart sick.

Honest Heart was about twenty, had no special skills or talents of note, and worked in a tiny flower shop called _C'est la Vin _on the corner of first and twenty-fourth street in the middle of the busiest part of Manehattan. Of course, that isn't to say that his shop was busy, per se—he'd count his blessings if he saw more than ten customers per eight hour shift. At first, it had surprised him that the clientele was so sparse, but considering the nature of the area he figured it maybe wasn't that strange that nopony was planting massive flower gardens with space they didn't have atop their high-rise lofts and inside their studio apartment complexes.

How exactly had he ended up in this mess? He was going to be a star athlete, playing hoofball in open-air stadiums amid the screams of thousands of roaring fans cheering his name, wearing his merchandise, and starting fights in the stands with fellow cheerers. He should have been a doctor by now, having gone to medical school and opened up his own hospital where he let not a single patient be left untreated. There was still that dream of going into space, but if there were any ways to get up there that _didn't_ involve threatening to cloak Equestria in eternal darkness, Heart hadn't heard about them.

No, Heart didn't do any of that, much to the chagrin of his parents. He'd protested so much at following his parents' ideals that he packed up his things as soon as he was of age, pilfered some of the funds his folks had stowed away for his future college endeavors, and taken the first train to anywhere but the backwater, unnamed hamlet he had grown up in and known all his life; he somehow managed to land in Manehattan, which wasn't any more than one hundred miles from the village. He could still remember how amazed he had been when he'd first laid eyes upon the sleepless city. There were ponies absolutely _everywhere_, going about their own business like background characters in a good play. There were stalls where merchants would peddle their goods (often unsuccessfully) to passersby, about a hundred little hole-in-the-wall shops and restaurants lined up and down main street, and enough smog in the sky that he could probably look directly at Celestia's sun for a time with no ill effects. Probably.

His first few days in the city hadn't amounted to much, considering he had no prior connections and hadn't really thought the move through as much as he probably should have. His daily endeavors were mostly related to begging everypony and everypony for a job, diving into rough-looking neighborhoods for a cheap place to live, and surviving off of stall food and sleeping on park benches during the night. Twice he'd awoken to his belongings being rummaged through, but he somehow managed to keep it together long enough to land a job _here,_ at C'est la Vin.

Come to think of it, he wasn't sure _how_ he had convinced Fertile Eyes to give him the job. The stallion, a charcoal gray with a graying brown mane, had looked Heart up and down for all of two seconds when he'd first barged into the front door, practically dragging his entire house behind him, begging for a place to work before he'd declared that he wasn't hiring. Heart remembered that he'd argued with the stallion for three or so hours, during which time it had become painfully obvious that not a single customer had shown up. Once he'd pointed that out, Fertile seemed to relent a little, and they'd managed to work out a part-time deal in exchange for him trying to bring more clientele into the store. That was a little easier said than done, really.

He'd tried everything: flipping signs around with his magic, talking to people on the street, _yelling _at people on the street, starting fights with people on the street, nearly getting arrested for prompting altercations with people on the street, and almost losing his job due to the people on the street. After that one, Fertile and he had to have a serious conversation about what it actually meant to _draw_ people into the store, and not make their reputation even worse.

This had prompted the ultimatum that Fertile gave Heart a few months earlier after two years of trying and failing to garner significant sales increases and client retention: if he couldn't get at least _one_ regular customer by the end of the year, he was out.

Heart sighed again, drawing the attention of Fertile Eyes, who had been arranging the same few groups of flowers for the past hour or so. He snorted and took his hooves from the flowers to plant them firmly on the ground, the sound snapping Heart from his stupor.

"Whasat? Did you need me for something?"

"If you've got time to sigh then you've got time to help clean shop. D'ya see that over there?" Fertile gazed over to the checkered black-and-white tile of the shop that lay beyond the counter, gesturing to some no-doubt minute detail that Heart hadn't noticed, though to what specifically he was referring to Heart had no idea.

"Okay, yeah, I see the floor, but what am I supposed to be looking at exactly?" Heart reached a hoof up to scritch-scratch his chin a few times before turning back to the stallion with a look of confusion.

Fertile Eyes gestured with his hoof to a small corner of the room, pointing out a few display tables awash in vibrant pink and orange chrysanthemums that Heart had personally arranged a few hours ago. Heart squinted, but still couldn't catch what the older stallion had. "Sorry boss, you're gonna have to be more specific."

"Oh, for crying out loud, _look_ at that arrangement over there. See anything wrong with that? You _did _do that arrangement, didn't you? I don't see anypony else in the store, let alone anypony that works for me." Fertile grumbled some more and Heart finally realized what he was so heated about. In the middle of the chrysanthemum sea lay a single white rose.

The younger stallion stared dumbfounded at the flower for a few seconds before scratching his head once more, his horn flaring to life as he grabbed the rose and plopped it into its respective bin a few feet away on the next table. "Was that what you were talking about?"

Heart's ornery boss simply nodded, going back to the arrangement he had been nursing for what felt like half the day. "I want this store to look perfect for when _she_ comes in—should be any minute now."

Heart blinked, the realization dawning on him before he nearly leaped across the counter, doing some last-minute tidying up wherever he could—considering tidying up was most of his job in the first place, though, his actions were a formality at best. He was about to run over his arrangement for the fifth or sixth time when the door chime sounded and the soft clip-clopping of hooves broke the strained silence of the shop. A cream colored mare slowly made her way in, her two-toned teal mane bouncing lightly with each step. Heart did his best not to stare, but it was no secret that seeing her was one of his favorite parts about working at the tiny flower shop. She turned to greet Heart, dipping her head a bit, and then wandered over to the arrangement of roses in the far corner of the room. She sniffed them, just like she always did, and then she grabbed a generous bouquet from the table and brought it up the counter. Briefly, Heart wondered why it was always roses before he realized that she was waiting for him to ring her order up and quickly made his way up to the register.

"S-sorry about that, I was just… doing some last-minute arranging before you got here, so. Well, yeah..." Heart trailed off awkwardly, the familiar flush of red creeping up his cheeks like it always did when he saw her.

The mare giggled a bit before producing a few bits and nudging them towards him. "Don't worry about it, it's not like I'm in a rush—I don't think she'll mind if I'm a few minutes late."

Heart nodded, though he had no idea who she was referring to—a hospital-bound family member, maybe? He wrapped the bits in an emerald glow before depositing them in the open register and printing her off a receipt, though out of habit he tossed it into the nearby garbage bin—he knew she wouldn't want it. If she was impressed with his attention to detail, she didn't say, instead option to take her bouquet and deposit it into the tan saddlebag on her side before turning to leave. As he watched her go, Heart tried to think of something to say to get her attention—he'd been meaning to ask more about her, or strike up a conversation, but she had such an unapproachable air about her that it was hard to find the words. Just as he'd figured out what to say to get her to stop, the mare came to a halt just before the door and turned around.

"Honest Heart, right? Thank you." She gave a little nod to Fertile, who grunted a little in response, and then she made her way out of the shop and back into the busy Manehattan street life.

Silence reigned over the shop before Heart slumped once again against the counter and let out _the longest sigh anypony has ever sighed_.

"I was _this_ close to talking to her! I was going to ask who she bought those flowers for, or maybe what she did for a living, or if she wanted to get something to eat… Oh, who am I kidding?" Heart's sudden depression was almost visible, a dark cloud of despondency forming over his head to shower his thoughts with regret and shame. Clicking his tongue, Fertile clubbed Heart's shoulder, nearly sending the smaller stallion sprawling onto the floor. "Hey, what was that for?" Heart started to growl at the older pony, but his thoughts were interrupted by a deep chuckle coming from Fertile's barrel of a chest.

"Nothing, you just remind me of myself when I was your age. My wife took a _looot_ of coaxing from me before I was able to get her to give me the time of day, and when I finally had the chance I nearly blew it. Your time will come, kid." Heart scowled at his boss for a moment before returning to his silent vigil over the shop's front door, the sour mood he'd steeped dissipating a little as the lighthearted monologue of a nostalgic older stallion continued beside him for the remainder of his shift.


	2. Black, Blue, and Just a Touch of Gray

**Chapter Two: Black, Blue, and Just a Touch of Gray**

Battered by the hopelessness of waking up a florist in the middle of a concrete jungle, Honest Heart sat back in his dusty bedroom and screamed into his pillow, though he reeled back in disgust as bits of stuffing and fuzz peppered his tongue as he did so. It was a week since his last encounter with the cream-colored regular, the _only _regular the shop had seen in quite some time, and quite literally his saving grace. Twice she had thanked him simply for doing his job (he was keeping count), but he had yet to thank her for keeping his place in the world secure for just a little while longer, though explaining exactly how much her continued patronage meant to him would be difficult without sounding like a madcolt. With a sigh of frustration, Heart tossed the object across the room, which admittedly wasn't _too_ far considering the size of the place.

Heart had gotten his place for a steal, really—at one hundred-fifty bits a moon, he couldn't think of a better deal considering his pay was well below that of the average Manehattian.

Manehatter? Manehattaner?

A stray puff of dust escaped Heart's lips as he blew a raspberry into the air and rolled onto his side, taking in his meager stake in the slums of the midnight city. The room was probably about four pony lengths wide, and four pony lengths long. Heart could touch the ceiling from his position on the bed if he wanted—he probably wouldn't though, lest he disturb the many cobwebs that hung from the broken ceiling fan that he felt might crush him in his sleep any day now. There was another fan in the corner, though it was about as temperamental as his boss was and had decided today was one of those "not going to work" days. The carpet below, a faded orange berber, clashed heavily with the peeling green wallpaper that revealed likely decades-old wooden struts that looked to be infested with at least two generations of termites. Truth be told, Heart wouldn't be surprised if the entire apartment collapsed on him, burying him alive in mold, mites and old brimstone; on good days, this was an annoying possibility, but on bad days, it was a hopeful reality.

Two dressers flanked his bed, which was a few feet away from the front door. In the far corner there was some sort of kitchen nook that was crudely decorated with power pony stickers he figured were moving-in presents from the previous tenant, and though the fridge worked and the sink was relatively clean, the dishware piled flank-high on the single counter top beside the amenities was not a sign of his slovenly ways but in fact where he stored his dishes, for he had no cupboards of any kind.

Something at the foot of his bed grabbed his attention, and he remembered that he did, in fact, own a full-body mirror. Heart picked himself up off of the bed and grasped the corner of the mirror in his magic, propping it up against the bed in such a way that he could see himself in a good light. _If that was even a thing…_ Shrugging away his derisive thoughts, he inspected himself in the mirror for a good minute. A subdued blue colt stared back at him, with a styled silver mane and a stubby horn that was barely good enough for anything other than arranging flowers or counting bits. A pair of emerald-green eyes blinked a few times amid the damp apartment's likely health-threatening mold spores. Satisfied, though still a bit depressed, Heart kicked the mirror aside, tendrils of sage magic wrapping around the object just before it had hit the ground—the last thing Heart wanted to do before work was pick shards of glass out of his hooves.

Honest Heart probably wasn't a bad looking stallion—he'd had more than a few dates back in his hometown, but that wasn't anything special. His town, a town which he loathed to remember, was the type where all its denizens either knew each other or were related to one-another and a lot of small-town dating drama went on almost everywhere one might look. Compared to that, the none-of-my-business attitude of a city like Manehattan was a lifesaver. His eyes wandered down to his cutie mark, and familiar pangs of self-loathing clawed at his underbelly. A thick black line traced a heart behind a solid, oval mirror on his flank. His parents had once told him that it meant he might be especially sensitive to other ponies' feelings, and his childhood friends had said that because there was no reflection in the mirror that he was a batpony; Heart himself wished he'd never gotten one at all.

Many a night he'd spend alone in his bedroom, racking his brain for some kind of explanation for the seemingly nonsensical cutie mark. He'd written entire chapters in an old notebook of his that barely clung to its remaining pages about what it could possibly mean and how it'd change his life forever, and for the better. Nothing had ever come of it though, and he'd moved away from all of that nonsense none the wiser.

_Depressing_, he thought. _I've got my own place; that's more than my parents thought I'd ever be able to get. Why can't I just be grateful for what I have? _Sighing a moderate sigh that wasn't _quite_ his trademarked _longest sigh_, Heart moved away from the bed, and the mirror, and trotted over to his kitchenette. Turning the handle of the faucet, he splashed his face with water and shook his head. "Come on Heart, you've got this. Today is going to be an _awesome_ day, and nothing's going to go wrong. _At all._ Satisfied with his pep talk, Heart rubbed his grumbling stomach and eyed the fridge with hunger, grasping the handle of the appliance between his hooves—and promptly yanking it clean off.

"..."

_Heart received a noise complaint later that day, detailing "excessive yelling and breaking things at six o'clock in the morning", and his rent was raised by twenty bits._

* * *

_C'est la Vin's _front door chimed its usual chime, and Honest Heart strode in with all the gusto of a constipated bovine, preparing one of his usual sighs and offering his usual wave. "Morning boss. Anything new around here?"

Heart's usual halfhearted greeting was shrugged off in the usual manner by his stoic manager, Fertile Eyes, who hoofed him a crudely-written list of things that needed to be doing. Some days were like this—Fertile wouldn't say a word to him for whatever reason, opting simply to hand out a checklist of busywork and send him on his way while he did his own thing. At times, Heart felt as though he half-owned the shop: he managed shipment orders, kept up with seasonal products, cleaned the store from top-to-bottom _almost_ every day, and a host of other things he felt he didn't get enough credit for. He'd never say that to Fertile though—just mentioning anything of the sort was enough to blow the older stallion's top and sour his mood for the remainder of the day.

"Another day, I guess." Heart rolled his eyes and straightened out the loose-leaf list of chores that needed doing. He squinted, trying his best to decipher the poor scrawl that had likely been scratched across the page not even a few minutes before Heart had arrived at the shop.

1\. Clean

2\. Arrange the newest shipment

3\. Clean again

Heart furrowed his brow and did his best to resist the groan building in his throat. Judging by the nearby wall clock, it was about eight, and though he was no stranger to full time shifts since he had been upped to full time nearly a year ago, today felt like the start of a particularly _long _and _mediocre_ eight hours of suffering the mundane.

No sooner did he start to polish the shop floor with a set of wax and a ragged cloth did the door chime ring again, though he was surprised to see _her _again, and so early at that.

The cream-colored mare with the two-toned mane clip-clopped into the shop, her tan saddlebag ready to receive its regular charge.

"Hey, welcome to the Vin-" Heart paused, scrutinizing the mare for a half-second before stepping over to the counter, taking his place behind the register.

Thick, purple welts were dotted up and down the length of her forelegs and flank, and a nasty looking scratch trailed down her cheek, clotted now with a spat of dried blood that suggest a bit of time had passed between then and now. Briefly, Heart wondered if maybe she'd gotten into a brawl with somepony, but his speculation was cut short as a bunch of roses wandered over to the counter, as well as a few bits. Heart quirked a brow and looked the mare over much more obviously now, clearing his throat before depositing the bits into the register. "You, uh… You get in a fight?"

As if awoken from a daydream, the mare's eyes shot open and she glanced down at herself, then back up at Heart. A solid three seconds passed before the mare's blank expression faded into a smile as she stifled a fit of giggles. "Who, me? Oh, I don't think I'd have it in me to throw a punch, let alone fight somepony. No, you see, I'm a bit of a clumsy mare and the other night when I got up to go to the bathroom I bumped into just about every piece of furniture in the house on the way there." She spun her hoof around beside her head and rolled her eyes, giggling again before taking the bunch of roses and sliding them into her saddlebag, wincing more than once. The brow Heart had raised failed to lower, but he nodded as though he agreed anyway, tossing the mare's receipt into the trash bin behind him.

"Riiiight, right, happens to the best of us..." Heart trailed off awkwardly, the painfully forced smile the mare had affixed him with ruining his resolve to question her further despite her questionable tale of struggling to overcome her apparent obstacle course of a house. He propped his head on a hoof and glanced at her saddlebags, doing his best to avoid running over the nasty-looking bruises that dotted the mare's legs. "So, you come in here all the time," he started, gesturing to the arrangement of roses that had been likely put out on display close to the counter specifically for the mare, "but I've been wondering: why do you need so many roses? Originally, I thought you were maybe giving them to a sick family member, but if that's still the case then I think you might need to get yourself looked at before _I _have to start bringing _you_ roses."

The mare giggled, this time in earnest, tugging a single rose from the open flap and setting it down on the counter. "I guess it is kind of strange—I take it you don't get too many customers who come in and get the same thing over-and-over, right?" Fertile Eyes clicked his tongue from the far side of the counter but Heart was silent, opting to nod his approval. "Well, my sister _loves_ roses, and I _love_ my sister, so every week I bring her a bunch of roses and we have a little get-together where we tell each other about what's going on in our lives and all that good stuff." She smiled, but with a lump in his throat Heart couldn't help but notice the touch of sadness that graced the mare's features. "When I'm not working my tail off, I'm usually spending time with her."

Heart slowly nodded, watching as the mare idly rolled the single rose on the counter top around in circles with her hoof. "Yeah, I get that. I used to do something like that back where I'm from, with a few of my guy friends every weekend. We'd stay up late drinking cider, playing a few games of Ogres and-" Heart stopped himself, the curious look in the mare's eyes causing his cheeks to heat up before he continued. "Er. Well, we just played dumb games that guys play when they get together, and while we got into a lot more trouble than we probably should have, it was fun, and that's something I think I really miss the most being here now." The mare nodded her head attentively.

"I know what it's like to miss ponies close to you." The cream mare glanced broke away from his gaze, her hoof moving from the single rose atop the counter to the tile floor below. "I hope you can find something like that here in Manehattan." She nodded her thanks to Fertile, who didn't seem to notice, and she began her awkward trot out of the store. Heart started to tell her that she'd forgotten her rose, but before he could say anything she added, "Keep the rose, by the way. Think of it as a gift from my sister—I'm sure she'd want you to have it." Heart was silent, his eyes darting from the wayward rose that found itself in his grasp to the knots on the mare's legs that seemed to taunt him, mocking his indecision and apathy. Heart chewed his lip, a million thoughts racing through his head at once. The mare had just made it to the door, threatening to trot off into the morning streets of Manehattan before he spoke up.

"W-wait, I uh..." He thought for a moment. "I never asked for your name. You know mine, but… I don't know what to call you, and that's not fair, right?" Heart cracked a nervous smile that threatened to betray the self-loathing he felt at both his awkwardness and his ability to say what was _really _on his mind.

The mare stopped—half in, and half out—before turning her head, affixing Heart with the same sad smile he'd seen earlier.

"Coco Pommel. I hope you'll remember."

And with that, she was gone.


	3. Untouchable

**Chapter Three: Untouchable**

* * *

The dull twinkle of Luna's many bright children shone down between the swaths of dense fog that loomed over Manehattan's midnight skyline. For such a sleepless and busy city, the streets got surprisingly quiet around this time—which meant that it was the perfect time for an introspective walk, something Honest Heart did quite frequently. Nearing the curb closest to him, he slowed his pace and glanced both ways up and down the wide Manehattan boulevard. There were no ponies coming, of course—anypony traveling at this time of night would surely be doing so on hoof, as few carriages save for those for business-related matters ran this late at night. Heart exhaled long, noting the thick cloud of vapor trailing from his muzzle despite the woolen scarf wrapped thickly around his neck. He crossed the street in no particular hurry, comforted by the tender clop of his hooves against the uneven cobble.

_Coco Pommel…_

He had heard the name in passing from his boss once before, but hadn't pinned it on the shy regular he'd seen the previous day until the words were uttered from her own lips. Much to his boss' amusement, the stallion caught himself repeating the name under his breath for the rest of his shift, taking her parting words to heart.

_I hope you'll remember…_

What had she meant by that? Was she going away somewhere, or did she think that Heart would somehow manage to forget the name of one of _C'est la Vin's _only regular customers? He scoffed at that, his steady pace carrying him to the next bit of sidewalk and down a similarly barren stretch of walk. The many shops that normally bustled with daylight activity were, of course, as deserted as the streets, their doors sealed tightly and merchandise hung neatly in display windows for the next business day. A single streetlamp flickered in the distance, the many moths and other buzzing insects casting wild shadows against the sidewalk in front of him. He knew this street, though he was loathe to admit it, and after a few more hoofsteps the familiar-yet-depressing sight of his apartment complex signaled the end of his night walk. There were a few homeless ponies laughing and dancing around a storage drum set ablaze by their magic once the sun had set, and the screeching of two felines mid-altercation over a territory dispute echoed in the distance.

"Ah, yeah—it's good to be home." Heart's grimace betrayed his true feelings to the cool midnight air, and he traveled up the two flights of steps to his room, a shiver passing down his back. A notice had been slipped between his apartment's door and the threshold, and when Heart removed the key from his scarf and swung the door open the note was gently tugged into view by an emerald glow. Glancing over the page for a few seconds, Heart sneered and balled the note up before tossing it over the railing and into the alley below.

Heart's apartment was the same as ever, but it seemed as though everything was awash in a gray filter that just didn't seem to want to dissipate. Try as he might, the stallion just couldn't get yesterday's events out of his head. The many dark purple welts that studded Coco's legs and flank haunted him, the image of her quiet suffering burned into the back of his eyelids like a photograph.

"What if... What if she were lying? What if there was something else going on?" Heart muttered to himself, removing the scarf from his neck and tossing it against the temperamental fan in the corner of the room, which sputtered on for a few seconds before kicking it back into _no_ gear and fizzling out completely. Consideration was given to the kitchenette, but Heart was too preoccupied to cook anything up. Throwing himself onto his unkempt bed with a groan, the stallion rolled onto his side and stared blankly at the wall on the far side of him. His thoughts drifted to Coco, her ugly wounds and her _likely_ story. Something just didn't sit right with him, and when he mulled it over for a bit longer, everything about her seemed suspicious that day: the sad looks he kept catching from her, the way she giggled in exorbitance, and those last few words that spoke to him of troubles and concerns unspoken. It was consolation enough that Coco was a regular; that she had established she had a reason for coming in every week and that nothing about that would change in the foreseeable future gave the stallion a bit of hope. Heart would make the time to talk to her the next time she came in, and he would broach the topic again—successfully, he hoped. He didn't think Fertile Eyes would mind if he made small talk with the regular, or asked about her unfortunate injuries—after all, building good rapport with customers was the first step to being a good retail associate, and that's exactly what he intended to do.

He couldn't help but hope she was telling the truth, though, for her sake.

* * *

The rest of the week went by in a flash, and though the amount of interested customers at work hadn't increased all that much, it was a relatively busy week by the store's usual standards. Fertile had given him another one of those _business_ lectures on why confirming the price of an order with a client _before_ pickup was important after a customer had walked away with an extra courtesy arrangement of two dozen _Lady's Slipper Orchids_ after the mare had insisted that she had been given a different price for her original order over the phone and that while she couldn't afford her _original_ order, she needed something to bring back with her to her sister's wedding. Truth be told, situations like that were a common sight in the small flower shop due to the overabundance of flora and the under-abundance of buying ponies. He'd suspected over the course of his years at the shop that many ponies simply had taken to complaining for the sole purpose of getting way more than they should, but if his boss was privy to the methods he didn't make it known. Heart wouldn't be surprised if he were told to take a seat and informed that the store would go belly up within the month, and he had exactly a week to look for and secure another job; the fact that the store was still somehow holding itself afloat was a miracle, and Heart considered the fact that he still had a job at such an unsustainable establishment a blessing.

Towards the end of the week, on a Thursday, Heart decided that it was about time he go to the market to pick up some things.

There were two major market chains in Manehattan that Honest Heart liked to frequent: _Fresh Find's Select Goods_, and _Lady Marmalade's Local Market. _Freshy's was closer to the shop, and usually his first choice, but on occasion Heart could find some pretty good deals at Marmalade's. The walk wasn't too much further than his apartment, but typically Freshy's was his one-stop for all dietary needs. Laziness won out over prudence that particular day, and Heart found himself taking the familiar road to Freshy's.

About half a dozen ponies could be seen perusing the many market stalls and colorful tents draped that were neatly lined up on the street corner, extending around and within the full length of the lot. Being the in-season for many fresh crops, scores of bright greens, yellows and reds could be seen in rows in front of many a merchant. Barrels were stuffed to the brim with bread that had been baked on the spot, something incredibly popular at Freshy's, and groaning colts badgered their mothers with questions like _"Can we leave yet? We've been here foreeeeeveeeeer!"_, something that Heart found to be amusingly reminiscent of his own foalhood. Weaving through the sparsely spaced pony shoppers, Heart fell into the familiar routine of browsing and inspecting, looking for enough stock to last him at least until the end of the next week. Surprisingly enough, there were even a few stalls offering things like freshly-caught river fish and freshwater lobster, though Heart had no idea if anypony actually _bought_ the stuff—he had only known one pony who had a taste for fish, and the last he had heard of him the colt was on trial, accused of trapping and trying to eat his neighbor's cat.

"_Step right up and get your hooves on THE tastiest selects this side of Equestria, folks. Wouldn't you be interested in trying some of these deliciously ripe cucumbers, or taking a bite a bite out of these tender tomatoes? Why, they're so fresh and delicious that I'm having a hard time holding back myself!" _

Something could be said about the way the traders at their stalls talked up their own products to such a degree over others despite the fact that almost every vegetable or fruit Heart had bought and eaten tasted almost identical to the next. Then again, he was no chef, so he supposed his palette wasn't exactly the most appropriate sample. After a bit of perusing, haggling, and stumbling over ponies who for _some_inexplicable reason had decided to strike up a conversation in his blind spot, Heart found his saddlebags bulging with all manner of fresh ingredients ready for cooking and stuffing down his gullet as soon as he got back to his apartment. His purse was a little lighter than he would have liked, sure, but his hooves would thank him later, even if his wallet didn't agree.

Heart had just finished paying for everything when a flash of cream caught his eye, and he was surprised to find somepony he knew browsing the local selection—Coco Pommel herself, along with a friend, an older stallion with a charcoal coat and a pair of broken hoofcuffs emblazoned on his flanks. Heart raised a brow and absentmindedly stuffed the receipt he'd been handed in his saddlebag, staring at the mare and her companion in the distance for a few moments before being shoved aside by the next pony in line, who muttered some miffed string of curses at him for ogling in public. Ignoring the sudden influx of embarrassment visible on his cheeks, he decided to turn back the way he came and follow the pair for a bit, if only to make sure Coco's bruises were healing up nicely. Heart wasn't sure what kind of relationship the two might have had, as the gray stallion observed enough distance between himself and Coco that they could have been anything from tentative acquaintances to temporary business partners. Curiously enough, every few minutes the stallion would mutter something under his breath to her, which in turn caused Coco to take a sudden interest in her hooves, ears flattening against her two-toned mane.

Telling himself that he had forgotten to purchase something in his rush to get home and was just going to double-check and make sure he didn't miss anything, Heart trotted along between two market stalls peddling apples before making his way over to Coco and her friend(?). They hadn't noticed his approach yet, the gray stallion making friendly conversation with a sleazy-looking merchant beside a downcast Coco, and when Heart had gotten close enough to pick out pieces of the discussion, he met the gaze of the cream-colored mare who suddenly regarded him with some mixture of surprise, fear and just a twinge of happiness. Noticing the sudden change in atmosphere, the stallion turned to face Coco, and then Heart, the many wrinkles under his eyes and light stubble on his chin expressing very clearly to you the age difference between the two—was this her father?

"Huh? Got some business with me?" The stallion said, a professional smile gracing his muzzle. Heart shook his head and nodded to Coco, who couldn't decide if she wanted to look directly down at the ground or scan the area for an escape route.

"Oh, uh. Actually, I just thought I'd say hi to Coco, since I hardly ever see her more than once a week."

Coco's eyes widen, and she turns to her companion. The elder stallion regards the mare with something akin to contempt before casting a sidelong glance in Heart's direction. "...Is that so?" Having dropped his conversation with the stall owner behind him, the stallion stared down at Coco for what felt like an eternity before speaking again, his voice cool and dangerously low.

"Are you cheating on me, you _bitch?_" The vulgarity stings your ears, and you feel the fur on your neck stand on end as Coco's expression grows even more exasperated, her lips struggling to form a coherent explanation.

"N-no, Scot, of course not! I just, well, you know that I-I like to go visit my sister every week, a-and—"

Coco's nervous rant is cut short as a heavy smack resounds through the open air of the market. Coco is sent sprawling into the dirt, her cheek set ablaze by the sudden blow delivered by the gray stallion. "Don't you fucking lie to me; _know_ a liar when I see one. I work with liars all day, _all _the time, so don't think you can pull one over on me, Coco." Despite the nature of his words, the stallion is incredibly still, his tone even and his outstretched hoof still hanging in the air where it had collided with Coco's tender cheek moments ago. The mare is silent, and absent are any sobs of pity or desperate mumbling.

"I'm sorry sir—it won't happen again." Heart stared in disbelief at the exchange, his jaw slack in the air. A quick glance around the rest of the market, which had grown quiet during the altercation, gave Heart the impression that he was the only pony at Freshy's—possibly in Manehattan—who had noticed the spat. Though no words were spoken, the rest of the ponies in the market continued what they were doing after curious looks and a few nervous glances were satisfied. Movement broke Heart away from the resumed patronage of the shopping ponies, and when he turned back to Coco and her assailant the mare had already begun to pick herself off of the ground, the pretty red collar that typically hung around her neck now tattered and twisted at an awkward angle. This seemed to satisfy the gray stallion, who finally lowered his hoof and cleared his throat.

"That's what I thought." At some point in time, Heart's confusion had turned to barely concealed anger, which then turned to surprise as the stallion turned to Heart, a wicked grin now replacing the steely grimace he had worn a moment ago.

"_Mares_, am I right?"

The gray pony snickered in Heart's face and beckoned for Coco to take the receipt from the merchant who'd watched the entire exchange with an unfazed expression. The words that threatened to spill from Heart's mouth were forgotten in an instant, and the bile building in his throat subsided as the two walked away from him without so much as a second glance. A dull throbbing assaulted Heart's senses and he realized that his heart had been pounding in his chest, the sheer amount of adrenaline coursing through his veins forcing him to wobble over to the market stall where one pony struck another only seconds before.

"W-what was that all about? Did you see that?" Heart practically shouted at the sleazy-looking stallion from before, a short yellow pony with a cropped orange mane.

"That ain't got nothin' to do with me." His eyes widening in surprise, Heart slammed a hoof down on the wooden stall in front of him, unsettling a few pieces of merchandise.

"Nothing to do with you? _Nothing to do with you? _You see a mare smacked to the ground and it's got _nothing to do with you?" _Though the intensity in his voice that was building with every word wasn't enough to push Heart to physically accost the merchant, the stallion behind the stall pushed Heart back and onto the ground, where he fell to his rear with a dull thud.

"Listen kid, you'd better watch who you're talkin' to or that mare won't be the only one eatin' dirt today. Now, I don't know if you're from around here, but in Manehattan there are some _very_ influential ponies that you do _not_ want to mess with, and one of them is that stallion over there—Scot Free." The merchant pointed towards the larger of the two ponies making their way out of the market square in the distance and then stretched his hoof out to straighten the products on the counter before him. "He and his family own about half o' Manehattan, and he's got the chief of police in his saddlebags, so to speak; you won't find anypony that knows what's good for 'em messing with a guy like him. If you want to stay outta hot water, you'll do the same—no mare's worth going up against odds like that." Finishing up his explanation with a bored expression, he coughed once before affixing Heart with a glare. "Anyways, if you're not gonna buy something then _beat it._" Rising to his hooves, Heart returned the foul look before dusting himself off and heading in the opposite direction, and though he briefly searched the departing crowd for Coco and her companion, Scot Free, he eventually concluded that they had long gone and hurried away from Freshy's, eager to get far, far away from the market and the cold stares of apathetic ponies.

* * *

With a bit of force, and a heavy shoulder, Honest Heart's front door squeaked open, allowing the musty scent of the decrepit apartment to wash over him. Ordinarily, the sight of his place's dreary state was enough to sour his mood in a nanosecond, but there was an odd comfort to be found in the familiarity of it all; there were no mares being struck, no merchants being heartless, and there was no talk of untouchable, corrupt villains. Heart had barely taken two steps before collapsing in his bed, shrugging off the groceries at his side and letting them fall to the floor—he'd pick them up later... or something. Though the last thing he wanted to do was replay the events of his encounter with Coco and Scot at the market in his head, he just couldn't shake that mental image of Coco, lying on the ground with that dull, lifeless look in her eyes. The way she'd apologized—addressing her presumed coltfriend as _sir_—made Heart's skin crawl. A sickly groan escaped his lips and Heart buried his face into his pillow, muttering degrading comments to himself.

_Stupid._

_Useless._

_Pathetic._

_Why didn't you do anything? Why didn't you say anything? You remembered, her, right? Coco Pommel, the pretty cream colored mare with the two-toned mane? _

_Why didn't you save her? You were right there._

_Coward. You don't remember her at all._

"ShutupshutupshutUP_SHUTUPSHUTUP!"_ Heart screeched at no one in particular, his cries thankfully muffled by the soft fluff of his pillow. His hoof thumped limply against the stiff mattress and, after a few more slaps, he slumped against his covers in defeat.

Restlessly, Heart fell into a slumber later that night, his mind plagued by the image of that smug, shit-eating grin Scot flashed at him in the market.

* * *

Work was slow. For the remainder of the week, nothing eventful or out of the ordinary happened, and though a second week came and went, Coco was nowhere to be seen. Vaguely, Heart registered the desperate rambling of Fertile Eyes in his ears as he droned on about how Heart had somehow managed to chase off their one and only regular customer, but for the life of him, Heart could only muster enough energy to stare listlessly at the front door of the shop, awaiting the arrival of a certain cream-colored mare he was unsure would ever grace his shop again.


End file.
